


Okay, So What's Our Alibi?

by alizarin_scribbles



Series: android monogatari [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Friendly Intimacy, Gavin Reed Being an Asshole, Getting Together, M/M, Mild alcohol, Self-Doubt, Snowed In, does this count as fast burn? i like to think it does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 01:03:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17091137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alizarin_scribbles/pseuds/alizarin_scribbles
Summary: Sorta prequel to “Gotta Get On It”. Offshoot where Hank and Connor get together before Christmas instead. One-shot. COMPLETE.





	Okay, So What's Our Alibi?

**Author's Note:**

> [Disclaimer: All named characters in this story belong to Quantic Dream and all other additional entities responsible for the creation/ownership of Detroit Become Human.]
> 
> I was listening to “Baby It’s Cold Outside” and thinking about police fraternization policies in fics I've read, and then this happened. I don’t know what this even is, but damn, I hope it’s cute at least ;w; 
> 
> Also, shout to [Nyoomboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyoomboy), for popping in to ask how it was going while I was writing this. You rock, dude .w.)b  
> -Reddie

It starts with an email.

By the last week of November, the Detroit Police Department is getting itself back into proper working order. Fowler’s first order of business is confirming which androids are staying onboard and which are leaving the department, in order to provide appropriate resources and forms for each.

When Connor replies he’ll be staying on with the department, he’s asked to fill out paperwork. The lack of a legal name is an issue, as well as his recent decision to move out of Jericho, being several scattered locations across the city thus far. Markus has asked him to vacate his current quarters in the coming weeks anyhow, in order to make room for more android survivors found in the junkyards.

Fowler responds tersely but professionally, saying he’s already been working closely with Markus to sort out the living situation for several other androids. He insists Connor get back to both of them with the details by Christmas if he can, to make the process a little easier. But otherwise, there’s no rush.

>   _Captain Fowler,_
> 
> _Thank you for your time and understanding. I’ve recently decided upon my legal surname, and my prospects for a new address should be sorted out fairly soon. I have discussed moving in with Lieutenant Anderson, and he has been amenable to this arrangement. You’ve seen that we work together well, so my hope is that you should find our cohabitation amenable too._
> 
> _I’ll keep you informed as the situation unfolds. Happy holidays._
> 
> _-Connor_

* * *

After sending off the email, Connor glances up from the alcove he’s sitting at to find North squinting at him from across the room. Josh stands beside her, looking somewhat guarded. Her arms are crossed and her gaze is hard, causing prickles of software instability, followed by pulses of discomfort. Connor lowers his head when she murmurs something to her friend, and he can guess well enough what it might be about.

Hank texts him and he doesn’t have to think about it.

_H: Chicken feed truck sound good to you?_

_C: Perfect. I’ll meet you there._

Cautious, Connor rises slowly from his seat, straightening out his tie, out of habit. Instantly, he picks up an increase in stress levels from the other androids in the room. Silent and careful, he makes his way towards the door.

“Where are you going, Connor?” North asks, an edge to her tone. It freezes his feet to where he stands.

“I’m going to visit a friend,” He explains to her, voice as even as he’ll allow.

“Who?” She shoots back. He can’t help but rub his fingers together, itching to leave.

“Who else, other than Hank?” he answers. Keeping his tone in check, somehow, is more difficult than before lately.  Still, he manages evenly, without sounding defensive, “I’ll be back later, so please let Markus know, in case I lose connection in this weather.”

There’s a long pause, between North sharing a look with Josh and Connor standing still at the doorway, as if seeking permission. And that prickles Connor. Aren’t they all free now, as Markus keeps saying?

“Alright,” North answers, with a pre-programmed smile. “I’ll be sure to tell him. Go, have fun.”

The word “fun” drops off a bit callously. Software instability crawls through his systems, swirling with self-consciousness as he leaves the room.

* * *

The edges of the tension melt when Hank wraps his arms around him.

Connor returns the crushing embrace. And he finds out quickly enough he’d rather never let go if he could help it.

Only a few weeks now, and he’s had some time to process his deviancy. Most experiences thus far have brought him nothing but stress and tension and discomfort, and he thinks he can halfway understand why Hank behaved as he had in their past encounters. Navigating life without clear-cut directives is difficult. And feelings are overwhelming to deal with.

Particularly though, being able to track and _feel_ the rapid thud of Hank’s heartrate against his frame… that’s a pleasant kind of overwhelming. Connor likes it.

They linger like that, for a few long minutes, before Hank pulls from him, easily sliding an arm over his shoulders. Together, they walk back to Hank’s car, chatter coolly on the ride to his house. They watch a basketball game together on his sofa. Sumo settles on Connor’s lap, happily enjoying the fingers in his fur the whole time. The game runs later than expected, and Hank accidentally dozes off on Connor’s shoulder during a commercial break.

It’s… indescribable. The sentiment Connor carries with him after the visit outclasses words like “nice” or “enjoyable” or “lovely”, though they seem like fair ballpark estimates. From the remainder of November into December, Connor chooses to visit Hank, after work. Even if just to spend an hour with him before going back to Jericho late, it’s worth it.

He chooses this, over and over again, because what is freedom for, if not for the peace of mind he feels with Hank?

* * *

Connor’s after-work decisions aren’t lost on the precinct, far from it.

Markus brings it to Jeffrey’s attention at least once or twice over their correspondence. Then it draws his attention pointedly once Hank returns to work, hardly a few days in after ending his suspension over clocking Perkins.

That afternoon, Jeffrey doesn’t even have to hear what words set Hank off. If he peers out the window of his office, he can clearly see Gavin talking shit to Connor’s back. And directly after that, he can clearly see Hank getting out of his seat to grab a fistful of Gavin’s shirt collar, before Connor intervenes to keep them at peace.

It’s a headache, but a police captain is obligated to keep the peace around here too.

“Hank, in my office,” He sighs, used to this phrase over recent years. “And Gavin, get back to your desk.”

Both men exchange scathing looks, before grumpily cooperating.  And Jeffrey doesn’t miss Connor’s eyes carefully following Hank’s footsteps all the way to the office.

“Before you write me up,” Hank raises a palm, settling into his seat across Jeffrey’s desk, “I’m pretty sure calling someone ‘an oversized vibrator’ counts as sexual harassment, so—”

“He’ll be out of your hair once I get his request for a transfer processed,” Jeffrey cuts in. “Another department can deal with it. Now, I’m not writing either of you up, because we’ve got bigger fish to fry.” Hank blinks, face shifting quickly from frustration to confusion.

He echoes, “‘Bigger fish’? Like what?”

“Is Connor moving in with you?”

“Uh, yeah. We’ve been talking about it.” A little bit of defensiveness creeps into Hank’s voice, “I mean, I don’t see why that’d be a problem or anything…”

“It’s not a problem,” Jeffrey reassures carefully.

Hank squints, “Then why are you asking?”

“I wanted you to clarify if…” Jeffrey grasps for words, “if you were aware of any motivations to this move.”

“‘Motivations’…” Hank says blankly, before making a face like the word soured his tongue. “Jeff, I’m not sure what you’re implying, but I don’t like the sound of it. Connor’s an honest guy, and he’s just lookin' for a new roommate is all.”

Jeffrey leans across his desk, voice pitching lower, quieter.

“That’s the thing, Hank. Are you sure he’s _just_ looking for a new roommate? Nothing more?”

On that note, Jeffrey directs his attention past the glass for a second, toward Connor, who is quickly turning his head away from the office back to his terminal. Hank blinks in realization, shooting out of his seat.

“Oh, _oh_ , no, no, no, it’s not like that.” Hank waves insistently, fanning out his crossed arms. “Like I said, Connor’s an honest guy, and-and… no way in _hell_ is he into me.”

“You sure? First morning back here, he asked when you were coming off your suspension,” Jeffrey shakes his head a little, “and he looked like a kicked puppy when I told him you wouldn’t be back in for another two weeks.”

The image kicks up a funny squiggle in the bottom of Hank’s chest, and he shakes it off just as quick, trying to focus on his point.

“Uhh, that’s real sweet of him, but I don’t think that means he’s…” Hank trails off, pacing a bit. And it dawns on him just how few other people Connor is close to. Whenever he comes over, he never seems too eager to head back to Jericho in the first place. “I mean, given everything, course we’re close but… that doesn’t mean he’s automatically… _into_ me or anything…”

A fragment of doubt creeps into Hank’s voice, and he knows Jeffrey hears it too. Jeffrey leans back in his chair and takes a long sip from his coffee.

“What about you?”

Hank shifts uncomfortably where he stands, crossing his arms.

“What _about_ me?”

“Truth is, I haven’t seen you out and about with anyone this much since college. Markus even commented that Connor’s been hanging around at home with you every day after work. So what about you?” Prickles of heat rush up to Hank’s ears, and honest to god, he’s not sure if it’s from frustration or embarrassment or—

A slight edge of panic seeps into his voice, “Okay, listen—”

“I’m not trying to hold this over your head. I’m asking man to man right now, Hank.” Jeffrey’s exasperation pitches up, plateauing at a certain volume. He sighs, “I just want to know so I’m best prepared to support both of you as the situation unfolds.”

Hank sputters.

“‘As the situation unfo—’? Jeff, look at me. You really think it’d matter? He’s not into me, and I’m not expecting that to change anytime soon. It’s not gonna interfere with our work.”

“Man to man, Hank,” Jeffrey repeats, tone unreadable. “We’ve known each other a long time. And I think I know well enough when you’ve got it bad for someone. I don’t want to make things more difficult for either of you than they need to be. Just letting you know that if you need an out, then you have one.”

“ _Listen_ ,” Hank insists, leaning over to rest his hands against the outer edge of the desk, “I know I haven’t exactly been pulling my weight around here for… a long time now. But the two of us have been doing great together so far. Could you at least trust me to act professional about this?”

Jeffrey looks him in the eye, brows crinkling somewhere between doubt and pity, before his sights refocus on his terminal. Hank backs away from the desk, quiet.

“I’ll have to see that for myself. That’ll be all for now.”

* * *

“…and that’s what he told me,” Hank huffs, taking another warm gulp of mulled wine.

He sits at Connor’s side, slumped comfortably into his couch. The fireplace is crackling nearby Sumo’s snoozing body, and the TV’s running too. Nothing of interest to either of them is on. It’s all just background noise more than anything.

Connor remotely lowers the volume, as he turns the new information over in his head.

“What does that mean, then? For our situation?”

“Aw, means jack shit is what it means,” Hank bats the air, casual. “You wanna move in with me, fine. You tell me when. Just wanted to warn you if the atmosphere starts shiftin' around us at work.” Hank leans forward to put his empty mug on the coffee table.

Connor murmurs thoughtfully, “I don’t wish to cause you any trouble.”

“You won’t,” Hank grunts, leaning back. “Trust me. I hardly have a reputation left to protect. More worried about you here, honestly.”

Another tingle of software instability arises at the words, but it drags more gently through his circuits than the ragged discomfort he feels trying to quietly justify himself to North and Josh. No, at this, Connor can’t help the smile tugging at his lips.

“Your concern is appreciated, but I think I can take care of myself. I know where I stand and what I want.”

“Good,” Hank reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, and Connor blinks pleasantly at the sensation. “Don’t you ever let anyone change that about you, Connor.”

Following an impulse, Connor leans into Hank’s shoulder.

“I won’t.”

Hank hums softly at the back of his throat, sliding his arm around Connor’s shoulders comfortably.

They’ve been like this since the first visit, when Hank woke up apologetic on Connor’s shoulder. Connor instantly insisted he was fine with the closeness, and even encouraged it, on the grounds that gentle physical contact reduced stress and risk of heart problems in humans. And, well, if Hank was honest with himself, he didn’t want to pass that up if Connor was down for it too.

A shift in the light through the window changes things, and suddenly Hank is dragging himself a little away from Connor.

“It’s getting kinda late,” he grunts, stretching his arms above his head, “Better get you back to Jericho.”

But just as Hank starts to stand up, Connor places a hand on his knee.

“Wait.”

“What’s up?”

Connor’s processors whir for a second, stumbling over those soft, blue eyes. His sights flicker briefly over the little bit of moisture that clings to the inner edges of Hank’s lips, and further down to his chest. Out of habit, he runs an analysis, tracking the heartbeat he’s so fond of…

“You’re inebriated,” Connor concludes dumbly, noting the brief twitch in Hank’s knee under his hand. Still, he’s not moving to get up.

 “Psh. I’m barely tipsy, Con. I think I can get you back just fine.” Then Hank tacks on, shifting a bit, “Though, if you prefer, uh, taking a cab back to Jericho tonight, that’s alright too. I won’t make you ride with me.”

Connor shakes his head, fingers curling ever so slightly into Hank’s knee as he scoots closer. There’s a slight jump in Hank’s pulse that sends a tiny jolt through Connor’s spinal wiring. He doesn’t want to imagine what it might mean.

He has to _know_.

“It’s cold outside…” he whispers to himself, indistinct. That has Hank leaning in towards him, brows crinkling slightly.

“Sorry?”

“The temperature is expected to drop significantly tonight,” Connor explains. “In a couple of hours, it would actually pose a risk to my biocomponents if I were to be outside…”

Hank huffs out a breath, quickly getting up off the couch, avoiding Connor’s eyes.

“Right, so you should get going before then… uh…” Catching the quickest glimpse of those sweet brown puppy-dog eyes, Hank flusters, “hey now, don’t give me that look! You know I hate to kick you out.”

“If you hate it, then you don’t have to.”

Head tilted slightly to the side, Connor folds his hands neatly atop his knees, watching Hank process the words. If Hank had an LED himself, Connor suspects it would’ve probably been spinning yellow about now.

Then Hank softens his voice, “Won’t your buddies back in Jericho get worried about you?”

There’s a moment of hesitation, where Connor honestly wonders if they _would_ worry after all. The thought is soothing and upsetting all at once.

Shaking his head slightly, he smiles, “It’s very easy to text them that I had to stay the night. If you’ll _let_ me stay the night, that is.”

“Well, I… fuck.” Hank scratches at the back of his neck, “This kinda puts me in a corner, and you realize that, right?”

“I know it’s not the best timing. I understand you’re on edge since meeting with Fowler today, and if you insist, then I can leave now. But…” Connor rises from his seat on the couch, drawing a few steps closer to Hank, “I’ve spent a lot of time listening to Markus talk about how we fought for freedom. And I never really understood the ramifications of that until recently.” Carefully, he settles his hands on Hank’s shoulders, “Being free to choose to be with you, on my own terms, it’s… it’s all I could ever hope for, Hank. It’s one of the best parts of being free, I think.”

Hank laughs softly, warmly, avoiding Connor’s eyes.

“Jackass. God, why would you spring that on a drunk man?”

Connor teases, a grin playing on his lips, “I thought you said you were barely tipsy.”

“Yeah, my mistake,” He laughs, voice cracking, slightly hoarse. Hank sniffs, and then shifts under his partner’s hands, digging the heel of his palm into his eyelid.

“You’re crying,” Connor observes, expression dropping slowly. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to—”

“Nah. I’m fine, don’t worry,” Hank scoffs, holding a palm up, “You didn’t say anything wrong. I’m just… that was a real nice thing you just said. And I don’t really know what to do with that.”

Connor steps ever closer, and he swears he can feel Hank’s hammering heartrate reverberating through that little space left between them. His thirium pump would be a fair match to that too, and he takes a deep breath to cool off his warm, whirring systems.

“I’m… incredibly fond of you, Hank. I like spending time with you, and being close to you. It… makes me glad to be alive.”

At that, Hank steps a bit closer too, enough that Connor can feel the breath ghosting just over his lips.

“Same here.”

Tracing his fingers up Hank’s neck, to cup his chin, Connor murmurs softly, trailing off. There’s a pregnant pause, as he leans inward, that much closer.

“Can I…?”

Then Hank gasps soundlessly, just against Connor’s mouth, and takes a small step back.

“I don’t—” He stumbles over himself, placing a hand on Connor’s chest. Seeing the slight contraction of pupils into blue irises, Connor lets his hands fall to his sides, lets Hank push him backwards just that little bit. “I mean, I _would_ , I just—Jesus… listen, Connor, I don’t wanna… screw things up for you before you’ve even gotten started. Don’t get me wrong, you’re free to choose me, I get that. But choosing me has some consequences, and you should probably think them over.”

And, heaven help him, Connor _has_ been thinking all of that over. It weighs on him more than he can say, to have served such a significant role in the revolution and still be distrusted within Jericho. The only reason Markus would ask him to vacate was for the peace of mind of any other newcomers who would be terrified to live with him. And it breaks his heart especially, that even those who trusted him before are now suspicious of him. He understands when he pictures their perspective: the former notorious deviant hunter, remaining so close to a member of law enforcement in the wake of the revolution, somehow still a human lapdog…

But even when he’s aware of how it _looks_ , there’s a simpler explanation to it that he feels he shouldn’t _need_ to justify. Lieutenant Anderson isn’t just his lieutenant. He’s _Hank_ , the one who slowly brought him to life by letting Connor in, teaching Connor the meaning of trust, and empathy, and… overwhelming warmth. Connor is here, at this house, every day, because he wants to be with Hank, plain and simple. And, android or not, officer or not, he shouldn’t be wrong to want the person of his choosing.

“I’m aware, and I have,” he answers. “I can accept those consequences as they come to me.”

“I don’t… wanna cause you any trouble, either…”

So many frivolous social expectations weigh on them, and Connor realizes this with a twinge. This is a second red wall he wants to break too, for Hank, and for himself.

“Hank,” He asserts, “if humans and androids are equals, then I don’t see any true issue in you choosing me back. Is that… something you want too?”

With that, Connor slides his hand over the one placed on his chest, letting the steady flutter of his thirium pump speak for itself.

“Fuck,” Hank murmurs, sounding amazed, something reverent in his growing smile, “Okay, slow it down there, Romeo. You can stay the night, just… help me out here. What are we supposed to say about tonight?”

“As I said before,” Connor curls his fingers around Hank’s hand, fond and coy, “It’s cold outside. That should be enough explanation.”

Hank feels that squiggle in his chest again, and leans into it.

“Then good enough for me too.”

So they spend the whole night, cross-legged on the floor, cuddling by the fireplace, until Hank’s close to dozing off again. There’s a sleepy murmur at the back of Hank’s head all the while, something that clings to the way Connor’s fingers stroke delicately over Hank’s side, like this touch will never return. If it's this nice, no way in hell will it last. For a second, he convinces himself Connor doesn’t know what he’s trying to get into.

But there’s clarity, when he kisses Hank’s temple, because Connor knows what he wants. And for all his inexperience, he still makes that clear as day.

“Everything is so new, Hank,” Connor murmurs, resting his head on Hank’s shoulder, “It’s… admittedly overwhelming. I’d like to be slow with you, if that’s alright.”

“Aw, Con.” Hank chuckles softly and hums, “You don’t even gotta ask for that.”

**Author's Note:**

> *me, rhythmically slapping my hands on the table* fast burn! fast burn! fast burn!


End file.
